


He Talks in His Sleep (Part III)

by knaval



Series: He Talks in His Sleep [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Failwolf, M/M, Oblivious!Derek, Sleep Walking, Sleep talking, dense as fuck!Derek, mentions of Lydia, oblivious!Stiles, sleep talk, sterek, talks in his sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:55:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knaval/pseuds/knaval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part three! mostly filler. there was gonna be more but i havent updated in days so here for now more tmrw hopefully. <br/>WHOA-OH, WE'RE HALFWAY THEEERE<br/>it's really late i apologize for everything</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Talks in His Sleep (Part III)

**Author's Note:**

> -since "TheAlternativeSource" asked that "Stiles starts trying to make Derek smile. Maybe by bringing him presents, coffee or even hugs"   
> i do have the other suggestions/requests planned out, i just need to finish patching them together. soon!
> 
> -i never intended for the pillow wall to be such a plot device.
> 
> also: derek is dense as fuck.

_The Sheriff_ talks in his sleep. It catches Derek off guard one night when he comes in through the window. Most often the Sheriff snores like a lawnmower, and most other nights he's working late. So often Derek hangs on Stiles' sleepy words that he barely notices it.

"S'a good kid. But m'worried 'bout'm. actin' strange," he mumbled one night, and it strikes Derek as odd. He couldn't have meant anyone other than Stiles, but then who could he have been mumbling about? Stiles had been completely normal, or as normal as per Stiles' usual behavior. Derek shook the thought off - nothing had changed since he had put the pillows back between them. He had been overly conscious about it at first, worrying that Stiles would bug him about it. He was ever grateful Stiles hadn't mentioned anything to him about the growing distance he was putting between them, for a number of reasons. Most of them had to do with the fact that his dreams had been getting worse.

It was getting more and more difficult to distinguish reality from his dreams of late, not when he fell asleep looking at Stiles and listening to his breathy mumbles, to slip into a dream where Stiles was flushed in sweaty red shades, eyes fluttering in pleasure, and each time they shut in an expression of esctasy his mouth opened in some new sound. Dreams where they rolled and touched and rolled again on a bed that didn't seem to have any edges - it never needed any, for in his dreams they had no reason to seperate and cling to edges, to push as far away from each other as they could get.

Yet despite all the distance he was putting between them, the sepaerate sides of the bed, staying fewer nights, getting in later and leaving earlier, Stiles was taking the tiny gestures well.

Really well, actually.

So well it disturbed him a little. Some traitorus, unbiden thought of his suggested that if anything he would have hoped that Stiles would take the distance badly, at least, not in the way he was currently. That the meager means of seperation wouldn't have gone unnoticed, that he would at least react to it and try to cross those small distances.

Derek hated to admit it to himself, but he was traitorously hoping that Stiles would have done something, just to indicate he liked him back. Derek shook himself, telling himself not to confuse those dreams with reality.

But Stiles didn't do anything to imply anything was amiss. In fact, he seemed to revel in the space. Stiles seemed to sidle up to him every chance in the day time, standing a little too close to him at the pack meetings, cracking jokes to him out of the corner of his mouth, leaning his shoulder against Derek's, walking alongside him, rambling, riding shotgun in Derek's car when he wasn't sure he even offered him a ride. Even when Derek pushed him away in the daytime, telling him to go play lacrosse with Scott or when Derek insisted he talk to Deaton alone, Stiles left with the widest smile. It was unfathomable.

On the offhand chances Stiles spotted him in public, at the grocery store or walking home, Stiles waved him over until he gave up and jogged over himself. Lately he was skipping the waving part. Derek was supremely grateful that Stiles had human hearing so he couldn't hear his heartbeat stutterwhenever he caught sight of Stiles unexpectedly. But he could probably see the flush he felt on his neck and ears while he glared at Stiles, willing the pinkess to go away. He tried not to look at Stiles, pretending he wasn't there but he was right there, so far into Derek's personal space that ignoring him was near impossible. When he couldn't avoid him in the day he tried to avoid him more often at night. Derek went a whole week without stoping by Stiles' place (though he kept seeing him in the daytime. Wasn't Stiles supposed to have school or something that would keep him away from him then?) but he wandered back on habit one night and fell asleep much faster than he thought. He had almost forgotten to put up the pillow wall. It didn't help that the sheets were soft and Stiles left little things out for him,

Nor that no matter how early Derek rose nowadays, there was a mug of coffee waiting for him on Stiles' desk, sometimes a donut sitting on the side. He knew Stiles was just giving it to him so the Sheriff wouldn't eat it, but he was starting to look forward to it. He chastised himself about it, knowing it was foolish to count on the morning gesture as tiny rays of a hope he was conflicted about wanting to hold onto, but there was that one morning he woke as early as he could, seeing Stiles leaving the coffee on his desk. Still dazed and confused in slipping out of a dream into reality, his guard was down and he smiled sleepily at the sight of Stiles. He tried to be angry at himself for the slip of obvious affection, but it was hard because he couldn't stop thinking of how Stiles had brightened seconds after. It took many hours after that for Derek to convince himself that the look had been a look of relief, particular "Hey you're awake now. Get out of here so I don't have to worry about my dad finding a werewolf fugitive in my bed."

Still, there were two donuts the next morning. Granted, the strawberry one had a bite taken out of it. And if Derek had to school his face into nonchalance while he ate around the bite with more care than nessesary, having to glare excessively at the donut in order to stop himself from grinning before he finished it, well then at least Stiles didn't know that.

"Dude I haven't seen you act like this since before you stopped pining after Lydia Martin," Derek overhead Scott say to Stiles one day, an aisle away from him at the grocery store. Peeking through the cereal boxes, Derek saw Stiles shrug sheepishly instead of answering, to which Scott hissed, "Dude, you're not having a relapse of that, are you? You are! You totally are, that's your 'Lydia Martin' face-!"

That was all Derek needed to hear to chalk Stiles' weird behavior up to his infautation with Lydia before he left quickly, making sure Stiles didn't see him. It made him feel oddly numb where it should have been relaxing to know that Stiles didn't suspect Derek's feelings at all.

**Author's Note:**

> comments, suggestions, feedback, criticism, unintelligible mumbling, all would be welcome!
> 
> seriously though i don't know if you know but i live off of comments so quick tell me what you think


End file.
